Keeping it all in Mind
by Aspergian Mind
Summary: The typical routine of Leonard Shelby. Never knowing what he did or what he has to do. Never knowing if what he's holding in his hands are disregardful or holding the vital clues to the puzzle.


**Keeping it all in Mind**

By Aspergian Mind

A/N: Another thing that I've wrote to fill in for the large time I'm not posting anything of what's probably my favorite film. Absolutely mind-blowing.

This here is a one-shot that would express his earlier times and evolution of his character prior to the movie.

Just love the film where there these hints that point us to a twist, this 'probably' does, or does not, too. As a part of a huger whole. What's so fascinating is the feeling of depth that there's infinite lot that to Leonard Shelby happened prior to the film and so much more yet to happen after. Truly only in the fragment of his life struggle.

* * *

...My hands seem to reach involuntarily for my pockets.

Why am I checking my pockets?

I didn't know why at first, but just a millisecond later, the answer snapped in. Because I can't create new memories, because I forget everything, I need to keep up constantly with all the notes to myself that I could be carrying. A scrap of information, plan or objective, a photo with some visual clue. It becomes an impulse to check. All a part of conditioning, like a new instinct for my body functions of awareness that is automatic to compensate but never replace what my head use stored to and hold on to. Never can be too sure.

Out of my right pocket I pull out the...cards with writing on them.

Shuffle through them to find any that caught my attention. First one I come across is a list of destinations I believe I'm bound for today. In order by --I'm just guessing-- their importance and location. Addresses are crucial if it's a new location. Can't be any good to travel to a new location, prior to the incident. See, Sammy Jenkins tried to t---

Alright, wait. This other one, there's something odd about it. Others seem like I've written on them, so I put those back.

A grocery list.

What, did a senior in a wheelchair ask me, "the young man with the strong legs," for a favor? A lot of good that did him, not putting a name.

**LIST:  
**Don't pick anything yourself, don't need much else we're  
fine than just these here:  
-Insulin from the pharmacy  
-Feel free to pick and food, just watch the glycemic index  
and carbohydrates on all items

You know what to get and not to get.

That's all, thanks.

Very obscure kind of list. Must have been diabetic to watch the diet. Why is the writer of this list trusting my judgment on what to pick? I examine it as if somehow knowing exactly what a diet of a diabetic is. So somehow I know, did I tell the person this?

It can't be just anybody who has written this in such specific detail. I don't know anybody who is diabetic, though...maybe. _Sighs_. Can't I keep what I still have in my mind?

This card has got no name on it. It's not my hand-writing, so somebody else wrote this for me, but who?

How would I find him? Well, I put it on my list --other piece of paper-- as a destination, but no address.

Address isn't for a house but to the one I use to go, or still go. Yeah, that one does have a pharmacy.

Is it for home? If it is then who gave me this? First noted on the list, is telling me directly not to make any other choices outside what is listed. Could have told him about my condition. Must be a housekeeper assigned to aid me with my condition. Maybe she's a diabetic, which explains the connection trying to be made in the writing. Then why wasn't the house keeper sent?

My gaze looks up from the card. I've spent the entire time looking nowhere but at the card and the pavement below, I have no I idea where I am. Down the street I eyed a police station. Last most formidable memory pops in, practically the only thing that revolves around in my mind. The latest memory is the most frequently recollected, that's why she's memorialized forever.

Am I onto something else that I should do personally...?

**............**

_Awake._

What was I doing? I feel a sting of frustration in myself. Why is that? First thing I do is try to remember.

I see a woman wrapped in plastic laying next to me dying. It all slams you in the face, recollecting such distant, traumatic final memories. My wife. I have to fulfill my lose of that precious life by taking that bastard's own.

How long ago was that? Why can't I remember in-between?

Right, I got my head smashed for trying to save her. Gone now, but she's still with me inside, but not in the way anyone would want. First thing to remember was the last thing I did.

There was a person I met through Insurance Investigation named Sammy Jenkins who 'had' the same condition. I should get a tattoo so to remind myself instantly about what I have each time.

It would be on my hand, so it would constantly-- Wait, there's something in my hand now.

A card. With words on it. Not my words. Shoot, did I just have relapse? Was I in the middle of studying this card? I feel a turmoil gone over since, and I didn't understand why it was there. I guess I see why. Unlike waking up in bed, have a memory relapse deletes the previous collection of thoughts, but the feelings would remain. How would I know to say that? I guess I told myself that every time it happens to where it's recited, imprinted as a different form of memory.

Alright, be quick, don't want to wake up like this again. This is not my handwriting, so am I sent by someone to do groceries? Who? There's no address. Either I forgot to ask --har har-- or it could be for me that someone else wrote. The frustration from before still lingers like a salted wound, I'm already full of it before starting.

Fuck it, if I just had this last episode I don't want my induced retardedness to go through it again. I'll just rewrite it and assume it's for me.

So I do not get confused with the writing again, I get a new piece of paper.

Where would I keep them, in my pant pockets or my suit pockets? Start feeling through the suit pockets and...What do you know, found the cards.

Out of my right pocket I pull out the...cards with writing on them.

Alright, then the left pocket would be the one with the blank unused ones. And...right I am. Glad I was considerate enough to bring something to write on to remember sometime in the past.

Blank ones on the left and written ones on the right. You really need a system to make it work. Keep rehearsing these things and you'll learn your way around.

I write down the same items --insulin and food for diabetics-- those oddly specific essentials on a new notecard. No one should just write me stuff, they have no idea what it's like to be clueless and be dependent on writing for facts. Got to learn to trust my own handwriting, make it print. Any other writing I put like cursive is to be put as false. Sounds rehearsed. Good, keep telling yourself that and it'll be a recited verse. You tell yourself this and you will already know.

Wait, don't forget to write down the Tattoo fact. Right, **Tattoo Fact: "Remember Sammy Jenkins."**

Alright let me check my other cards. Hey, one of my listed destinations is a tattoo parlor...with an address. Oh, there's one already that says, **Tattoo Fact: "Remember Sammy Jenkins." (left hand in cursive) **

Guess I've told myself this already. Why that extra detail, cursive? What's the difference? I correct myself right then, for I write in standard, clear, readable print to simplify things. Non-cursive, nothing fancy that could be unreadable in extreme cases. Never liked sloppy signatures. Any other writing would be debatable as deceitful or not, like my grocery list. As if a grocery list is a like a 'red herring'.

And also pointing out the left hand. Well, I am left handed, so it is good to have the sign on my more frequently used hand.

I guess there was a reason I came up for it earlier. I'm hate not knowing what I had thought up earlier. I can only know what to do next if knew what I did earlier. The only consistency in those relapses is in my feelings, but not in their functionality.

Can I trust myself? With what I have written earlier. What ever I think now, all this frustration of not knowing from before, agony of remembering your lost love, yearning for relief of this trap. Lost of creating new memories, clinging on to what you had then, if all I have is to hold to what I have no longer, then I have the same drive all the time. No matter who I am, what I do, where I am, no matter what becomes of me, I'll always be looking for and kill that John or James G.

Can I trust myself? Yes I can. What I feel now is what I felt then and will be forever. Trapped in the same loop every time.

I crumple the new one, since it's useless anyway. Must be.

**A card I check reads:** Your were proven wrong. Sammy's case is true. Sammy Jenkins' wife was diabetic.  
She is the proof.

I knew that already...I think. Why am I keeping this one?

All this not remembering is probably eroding what I do remember. Rehab: Your wife is dead, someone took his life, you find him and end him. How can I divert off course from something so simply cruel. Just relax and move on to the next card.

**The next card says:** Update weekly on Investigation. Go to personally to get the direct answers.  
Today is the day.

See a police station down the street. Must be where I was going. Might as well check it out.

I move my feet finally and take a glance around. People have been walking around me I noticed, though I avoid acknowledging their presence so not to take too many unnecessary things into my limited storage that stays for a handful of minutes.

One that strikes me is this guy, looks like a junkie-type person, sitting comfortably at a bench smiling at me as I walk passed at a distance...

* * *

A/N: Another complex one-shot that I may have taken more than I can chew. Not to where it came off bad, but still having to work on it harder than I imagined I would. I can hardly imagine all the frustration and anguish of having to go through life not remembering.

I have a crazy idea of doing another film for Memento. Sequel or Prequel? You'll never know. I wrote this as a test or demonstration to see I can capture the essence of the film.

The most unique thing about the film was it's narrative. Going back-and-forth between two time periods going in opposite directions chronologically, really isolating the individual scenes. That last scene was what would happen later, so it's not yet relevant with this scene so what matters is what happened before the scene we are watching now, but we know nothing about what happened before. Really creates the illusion of having memory lose. You're stuck in a temporary present.

It's an endless labyrinth for him.

"Now where was I...?"


End file.
